reason to leap

The locusts are singing their song again, reminding us all that summer is coming to an end. And with the end of summer comes change and challenge. 118 names to learn. Papers to grade. Kids to inspire. And of course, the return of the alarm clock. It's been off for three months, just the way I like it. 

Some wake-ups are easier than others. If you've ever left before dawn for a vacation, or had a first day of school, you know exactly what I mean. See, when you have something to look forward to, waking up is a breeze. 

So it's no wonder that I've been springing out of bed for the past two weeks. I have something to look forward to, something I've wanted for a very, very long time. 

I am pregnant. 

We aren't really telling people yet; it's still very early.  I know we're not out of the woods, but being in the woods by yourself is lonely. Very lonely. So I'm inviting you in. (If you know me in real life and you read this blog, shhhhhh.)

 After wanting this for so long, we're over the moon, but we are both very nervous. Nervous and anxious. Excited. Terrified. Blessed. Thankful. Apprehensive. Unbelieving. Awe-struck. Scared. The list goes on and on. 

I know that sometime in the near future, I may not be leaping out of bed.  But today, my friends, I am. Today, I am pregnant.

Hey, Jealousy

The thing about infertility is that you can't escape from it. It's always there. Sure, there are moments I forget about it, a few precious minutes when I am too happy or preoccupied to remember that my body doesn't work right. But they're just moments. Not days, not weeks. Moments. And then, if only for a second, the pop of a pill or the stab of a needle forces me to remember.

Most days, I am able to smile through it and soldier-on.

Then there are days like today. Days when the emotional tidal wave hits without warning, and I am overcome with fear, anger, resentment, and doubt.  And the jealousy. Oh, the jealousy. Sometimes I feel like it's eating my soul with its wickedness and I wonder who I've become. Last week, I was actually jealous of a pregnant dog. A DOG.

Over the past few weeks, no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to turn my good moments into a full day. There are just too many triggers. It makes sense, though, when you think about it:  There are people all around me. People created by people who could make people. People who could do something that I cannot.

I am annoyed, volume II

Dear Hospital Administrator,

Congratulations! You are not infertile.

Relax,  I didn't hack into your medical records. I didn't need to. In fact, I don't even know your name or your gender. All that was required for me to make this diagnosis is a quick drive around your medical center's parking lot and a short ride in your elevator.

Let me explain. Yesterday, I was running five minutes late for an infertility appointment at your hospital's medical center, and I was having trouble finding a parking spot. As you know, your parking lot is massive. So massive, in fact, that you employ a shuttle service to transport patients to and from their vehicles.

I circled the parking lot three times, but it was completely full. It was 98 degrees and the shuttle wasn't running. Not good. All of a sudden, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted eight open parking spaces right next to the door!  Eight! I didn't see any handicapped symbols, so I scooted over toward Mecca.

I pulled in, put the car in park, and was about to get out when I noticed the sign: Reserved for Expectant Mothers Only.

Awesome. Not only am I unable to have a baby, I am also destined for a life of shitty parking spots.

Fifteen minutes later, out of breath and covered in sweat, I was finally in the elevator.  I scurried  in just as the doors were about to close and asked a very dry (great parking!) and very pregnant woman to press the the button for the fourth floor. "Oh! That's where I'm going, too!" she said. Of course she was.  Of course.

See, I know you're fertile, because only a fertile person would plan a perinatal/multiples ultrasound center next to a fertility clinic. It's like putting a chemotherapy center next to a hair salon. Way to go.

Love,

Dorothy

No place like home: My week in pictures

Whenever I tell people that I grew up in Detroit, they give me "the look."  It's a mixture of confusion (Detroit? Are you sure? Gee, you certainly don't look like a gang member )  pity (Awww, you poor thing. Did you live on 8 Mile?) and relief (You survived! You got out! You moved to Ohio, the land of plenty!)

And I get it.  About 90% of the actual city of Detroit is horrible. It is desecrated, burned, and crime filled. What most people don't realize, however, is that Detroit has some beautiful suburbs.  Just a few miles up the river from downtown, on the shores of Lake St. Clair, lies Grosse Pointe. It's picturesque, safe, and filled with country clubs instead of crack houses. It's where I grew up, where I still call home.

After I graduated from college, my parents moved 45 miles away from Grosse Pointe, so when I go "home" to visit them, it's often hard to see my friends all in one visit. Thus, every summer, I spend about four or five days staying with my high school friends in GP. This year, I chronicled it with pics.

Wednesday: The picture above is Lakeshore Drive in Grosse Pointe. In my opinion, it might be one of the most beautuful views in Michigan.  Growing up, I saw this view every day. I wish I could go back in time tell my sixteen-year-old self to appreciate it more. 

Wednesday: Ahhh, Boones. The Kool Aid of the 90s. Have you ever had Boones Farm Wine legally (read: as adults)? We hadn't, either. So, in the spirit of reminiscence, my friend Terri bought a bottle over to Andrea's house and we split it in little plastic cups before going out for the evening. Strawberry Hill, of course.  It smelled and tasted just as we had remembered it: a mixture of rotting fruit, sulfur, and rebellion. 

Thursday: This is my friend Cooper on our lunch date last week. Isn't he the cutest little guy?! He is extra-special for so many reasons, but especially because I love his Momma to pieces. Kelly and I have been dear friends since high school.  To me, Cooper is so much more than  just my friend's baby - he represents hope, faith and determination. 

Thursday evening: This is my adorable mother chasing Davy Jones from the Monkees down the streets of downtown Detroit (post happy hour) after realizing that we'd been standing next to him while waiting for valet.  Poor Davy. I wonder which is scarier: Being chased by gangs in Detroit, or a lady in a pantsuit? 

Saturday: Ahhh, the Fish Flies The sign that summer has arrived in Grosse Pointe. In case you aren't familiar with them, they're flying insects that hatch in Michigan's fresh water lakes every year near the end of June. For three weeks, Grosse Pointe is covered with these rascals, especially near the water. They're harmless, but they reek like rotting fish. Is it weird to say that I miss them?  They remind me of home. Here I am next to an ATM near the lake.

Saturday: On the last night of Summer Bender 2011, my parents dragged invited my brother, sister-in-law, and me to a reunion concert by one of their favorite 1960s bands, the SRC.  Apparently, this band was quite big in Detroit at one time, and they were reuniting for a special concert. Keep in mind, the last concert my family attended together was New Kids on The Block in 1990, where my parents were the oldest people in the audience. We owed them one. Talk about a role reversal - at Saturday's concert, my brother and I were by far the youngest. We went in with an open mind, but it was bad. Really bad. This would be the equivalent of my husband and I taking our kids to a Pearl Jam reunion tour in 2040 and then realizing that Eddie Vedder can no longer sing and sounds like a dying cat. We all left after three songs

So there you have it, my week in random pictures. There's no place like home.

What NOT to say to someone experiencing infertility

I am an open person about most things. Probably too open. If I have a problem with something or someone, I talk about it.  I write about it. I complain about it. I may will probably even talk behind your back about it. (I'm trying to quit that last one. It's on my list of things to stop before I'm 30). That's how I roll.

So it's no surprise that I chose to be open about our experience with infertility and PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome).  To give you a little background, with my severe PCOS, we have a 1-4% chance of conceiving on our own without treatment. I know that our road has been short compared to so many infertile couples, but I don't know any of those couples. So to me, it sucks. A lot.  So we have been trying fertility drugs and IUI to help us, which increases our odds to 15%.  So far, no dice.

Even though I don't regret being open about this whole process, I totally understand why many (heck, most) infertile couples choose to keep it quiet - because when people hear news that makes them feel uncomfortable, their first reaction is to try to make the other person feel better. Often, they try to accomplish this by making  well-meaning, yet annoying (and sometimes hurtful) comments like these:

What NOT to say to someone who is experiencing infertility:

1) Just Relax!
I tried relaxing. In fact, I relax all the time because I don't have kids, remember?  That's why I want kids!  So I can never, ever relax again!  

2) Don't worry about fertility treatments. It will happen when you least expect it!
What are you? A wizard?  Infertility is an illness - something is wrong with my body.  Would you tell a cancer patient that their cancer will be cured when they "least expect it?" 


3) "Just enjoy the time to yourself right now.  After you have kids, you'll never have peace and quiet. "
I'm not an idiot. I know that kids take an insane amount of time and energy.  They're messy. They're loud. They're expensive.  They're exhausting. And that's ok! See, I don't just want a baby - I want the mess, the exhaustion, and everything that comes with it. And I won't stop wanting that. 

4)  Just be glad you don't have to deal with this horrible morning sickness / sore boobs / swollen ankles, etc. (And other complaints from pregnant people)
I would give anything to be sick if it meant I was pregnant.

5) You can always adopt!
Really?  Thanks!  I didn't know that! And next you'll probably tell me some great story about a couple you know who adopted a baby and then "poof!" They got pregnant.

6) It just isn't meant to be right now. 
Thanks, God. 


So what SHOULD you say?  If she brings it up, ask questions. Be supportive. Acknowledge that it sucks. Let her have time feel bad about yet another negative test. Go out for drinks. Ask her about testing dates, and tell her that morning that she's in your thoughts. If she doesn't want to talk about it, give her space. You can't go wrong by just being her friend.